


rotten town

by ernestdummkompf (JehanFerres)



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Athos fucks it up again, Athos is tetchy, F/M, Friendship, Kidnapping, M/M, Seasickness, Treville is minister, but they aren't busy Thwarting Grimaud, d'Artagnan and Constance are married, look i have no fucking idea when this is, so call it Not Canon, the Boys are Back Together, this is probably gonna get Quite Gay as it progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 00:59:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13260270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JehanFerres/pseuds/ernestdummkompf
Summary: a routine trip overseas to a small english port town goes dramatically wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is...the first musketeers fanfic i have ever written but i very much doubt it'll be the last, because It's Good, My Pals. it's closer to bbc series musketeers (in that constance is Still Uh Alive) and porthos just IS bbc series porthos because i'm completely unable to imagine porthos appearing any way other than that, but there's still a bit of novel musketeers in there.
> 
> i'll point out that i have NO idea where athos/aramis came from as a pairing but it makes sense for some reason? otherwise expect These Boys to be constantly very physical with each other when they are able to do so, because i'm always excited about friendly physical affection.
> 
> (title and general Mood comes from the song _rotten town_ by ludo, which is from an album tragically missing from spotify. i've been endlessly listening to the album it's from and ludo generally for a couple of days now bc it's Good Music.)

“Crossing the Channel should be nowhere near this painful,” Athos informed Constance, in a tone which might have passed for matter of fact, had the man in question not been leaning over the side of the ship taking them to England, his complexion half-way between ghost-white and green and his head spinning with the effort of keeping himself upright.

“I’m sure it shouldn’t.” Constance, for her part, was impeccably dressed despite the slightly damp hem of her dress from the waves crashing up onto the deck, and able to manoeuvre herself about the decks of the ship effortlessly in boots with heels. Had he not been completely occupied in trying not to lose the very meagre lunch he had had an hour ago when the sea had been somewhat calmer, Athos would have commented favourably.

“Did you come out here _only_ to mock me, or was there another reason?” Athos asked dryly. He turned his head slightly to look at Constance, but found that he had to grab onto the side of the ship with both hands to keep steady when he stopped looking directly at the horizon.

Constance grabbed him by the upper arms as soon as he started wavering to prevent him from going overboard, and waited for him to get his footing again before letting go of him and replying, in an equally sarcastic tone, “Yes, Athos, I personally risked my life purely so that I could annoy you.” When he laughed, she went on: “The Minister wants you.” She waited for him to digest the information. “And d’Artagnan. And Porthos and Aramis,” she added, “but mainly you.”

“Ah.” If Athos knew what this signified, he didn’t let on, and made a sudden return to leaning over the side of the ship. Constance put a hand between his shoulder blades. “I’m quite fine, thank you,” he said, very deliberately, after a moment.

“Well, give me your arm, then,” Constance ordered, grabbing Athos by the arm before he had any chance to protest. He tried to glower subtly at her, but failed. “Be glad I’m letting you escape with your dignity intact,” she pointed out, not unkindly, before all but dragging him down the stairs into Treville’s cabin.

It took a moment for Athos to manage to steady himself after he nearly collapsed through the door of the cabin. Porthos got to his feet from here he was sat on Minister Treville’s bed in the cabin when he realised just how unsteady Athos was, and Aramis moved up so that Athos could sit between the two of them.

“Exactly where I said he would be,” Constance said, with considerable self-assurance, as d’Artagnan helped her up onto the table. Aramis ruffled Athos’ hair, because he knew that Athos would be too busy swaying from side to side in an attempt to keep his centre of balance in the right place to try to resist.

“And drunk?” Treville asked, albeit with good humour.

Athos was still somewhat needled by the jab, however. “I can assure you,” he said, steadying himself by putting his hands on Porthos’ and Aramis’ shoulders. Porthos leaned in towards him somewhat. “Minister, if I _was_ drunk, I would either be face-down on the floor or floating in the sea at present.”

He spoke with his usual dry sense of humour, but even Treville could tell that he had maybe pushed it a little far. The minister held up his hands, but took it no further; he could apologise later when they were off the ship, washed, and generally in improved spirits.

“So, what did you want us for?” Porthos asked, clearly not enjoying the uncomfortable silence. “Or did you just…” He trailed off from that particular train of thought when Aramis caught his eye and shook his head. “Never mind.” Athos knew exactly what he meant, and cast him a look. Porthos, amused but still sympathetic, put his arm around Athos’ shoulders. D’Artagnan, completely at his ease despite the increasingly rough waters, laughed fondly.

“We’re going to be here for an extra day, at least,” Treville said, his tone matter-of-fact. “It’s rough out there now, and it will only continue getting rougher.” He watched Athos, Aramis and Porthos for a moment, before continuing. “The captain suggests that we all stay below decks until it passes.” Athos instantly started looking like he was thinking that this was a _dreadful_ idea, but he didn’t say anything, instead leaning his head slightly to the side and back, and doing his best not to pay attention to the bile at the back of his throat.

All six of them remained fairly quiet for the next few minutes, Aramis wedging himself into the corner between the two side walls of the cabin in a way that allowed Athos to prop himself up against him if he needed to, while d’Artagnan held onto Constance’s shoulders. Only Porthos and Treville were able to move around the cabin.

“Athos.” Porthos saw out of the corner of his eye that Athos had suddenly put his head down level with his knees, the muscles across his back and shoulders tight and his breathing quick and shallow. “Are you alright?”

“I will be in a moment,” Athos said. Porthos reached over to put his hand on his back. “ _Don’t_ ,” Athos said warningly. “I would heavily advise that you do not do that,” he added, slightly more pleasantly albeit still sharply, a moment later. Porthos drew his hand away, and waited for Athos to relax and for his breathing to slow again.

Constance put down the bowl she had picked up when Athos had started looking sickly as Athos got unsteadily to his feet. Porthos extended his arm, ready to catch him, but Athos was already slightly unsteadily out the door.

Aramis sighed, uncrossed his legs, and got up. “I’ll be mother, shall I?” he said, slightly sarcastically, as he followed Athos back out of the door.

Fortunately for Aramis, Athos was unsteady enough on his feet for Aramis to more or less immediately collar him as the door shut. Unfortunately for Athos, however, he was also unsteady enough that suddenly turning when Aramis called after him caused him to slip. Aramis quickly grabbed him to prevent him from concussing himself, ending up half collapsed against Aramis’ torso and bent over Aramis’ right arm.

“How romantic,” Aramis joked lightly, once he had ascertained that only Athos’ pride was injured.

“Help me up,” Athos said, clearly legitimately irritated.

“Help yourself for a second first,” Aramis said, now engaged in trying to make sure that Athos didn’t end up falling over. “Put your hand there first–” He inclined his head towards the handrail that he was gripping with his left hand when Athos glared up at him. “Then pull yourself up slowly, so you don’t fall again.”

“I know how to right myself, thank you,” Athos said. However, he clearly didn’t, as he pulled himself up too hastily in his irritation and ended up falling backwards onto the stairs again. Even he had to laugh at that, and he gladly accepted Aramis’ extended hand. “Give me your arm, will you?” he said.

Aramis did so, although not before moving around to Athos’ left so that he could keep hold of the handrail with his dominant hand. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, even though Athos still wasn’t feeling particularly steady, he felt somewhat cheered by Aramis’ presence.

“Why were you in such a hurry to leave?” Aramis asked wryly, as soon as he suspected that they were out of earshot of Treville’s cabin, and any nearby sailors were distracted enough not to be able to eavesdrop on their conversation. “You haven’t stowed some young lady away, I trust?” he continued.

Athos looked sidelong at him, but snorted out a derisive laugh. “That seems more your style, brother,” he replied, continuing to smirk wryly at Aramis. “I wanted to change out of this shirt, if you must know.”

Aramis was almost annoyed by this straightforward explanation. “Would you like me to come in with you and make sure you don’t knock yourself unconscious?” he asked as they reached the door to Athos’ cabin.

“Don’t push it, Musketeer,” Athos said, completely losing his good humour and shutting the door in Aramis’ face. Throwing up his hands in defeat but wary of further annoying Athos, Aramis retreated back to Treville’s cabin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry athos; i love you but i'm here purely to oppress you. also i wrote porthos' accent like. really phonetically. sorry about that but also not actually sorry.
> 
> if you want to know where they actually are, they're in chichester, or at least in chichester harbour. this is because i know how to actually get around in chichester and the surrounding area, and also partly because all of the other nearby port towns hadn't actually been founded when the three musketeers is set, whereas chichester i know for a fact _had_ been because there are buildings dating from the 13th century there.
> 
> right one of my favourite things about the musketeers (the bbc series) is the fact that it is, essentially, law and order/csi: pre-revolutionary france. i kinda tried to capture that Feel in this fanfic, but i'm not sure entirely how successful i've been at that. this is the first time i've ever written a fic like this despite having watched shows like that (albeit modern ones) for years. so like... tell me what you think.
> 
> there is a reference to good omens (which is my favourite novel btw) in there somewhere. tell me if you spot it!

“Where is Athos?” These were the first words Treville uttered when Aramis, Porthos, and d’Artagnan presented themselves in his cabin after the ship had docked that evening.

“Overseeing the cadets removing the horses from the hold, I expect,” Aramis said, having been up earlier to watch the ship pulling into the English harbour and having seen Athos head down the gangplank before anybody else.

Treville raised his eyebrows. “With nobody keeping an eye on him?” he asked, with considerable sarcasm. “I’m sure they’ll dredge him up later,” he joked. Aramis and Porthos laughed, but d’Artagnan looked slightly uncomfortable.

“Oh, don’t look at us like that,” Aramis laughed when he caught sight of d’Artagnan’s expression, cuffing the younger man gently across the back of the head. “I’ll check on him as soon as Brujon tells us the horses are all present and correct,” he added, mostly for d’Artagnan’s benefit. Even though Athos would probably immediately go and get as drunk as he possibly could once he was relieved of his duties, he wouldn’t be getting drunk when he was already unsteady and feeling unwell.

“If ‘e has nothing to do until tomorrow afternoon…” Porthos raised his eyebrows. “Find out where all the local taverns are, ‘s all I’m saying,” he continued, his tone dry but his expression amused.

There was a knock on the door just as Porthos was speaking. Treville stepped over and opened it, rather than shouting for whoever was knocking to enter, and found Brujon standing outside with Constance.

“All the horses are present and correct,” Constance said, looking around the room. “Where’s Athos?”

“Where’s Athos?” Treville repeated, confused. “We were going to ask the same question of you.” He looked expectantly at Brujon, then at Aramis, and then back at Brujon. “Wasn’t he helping you to unload the horses?”

“He was for the first half an hour, Minister,” Brujon said, clearly unwilling to cause his Captain to be on the receiving end of Treville’s ire. “Maybe more,” he added.

“But…?” Treville continued.

“But he left once he was sure we had the task well in hand.” Brujon looked down at the floor.

“But all the horses are safe,” Constance said quickly, keen to placate Treville.

“I’m sure they are,” Treville said, nodding at Brujon, who smiled awkwardly. “Did you see where he went? And was anybody with him?” he asked, although he had a good idea of what the answer would be.

“No, Minister,” Brujon replied. “One of the horses got anxious, and Athos left while I was calming her down and getting her off the ship. I didn’t see anything; by the time I was back he had left. He must have had some business to attend to, I suppose?” he said, sounding confused.

“Oh, I’m sure he is.” Treville laughed, humourlessly. Brujon started looking worried. “You aren’t in any trouble, Brujon.” He looked around the room again. “D’Artagnan, go and make sure all the horses are accounted for with Brujon, will you?” he asked. D’Artagnan nodded. “Aramis and Porthos, you two are dismissed for now. _I_ am going to have a word with your Captain.”

Strongly suspecting that “word” was synonymous with “horribly painful eternity”, Constance immediately came into the room. “I’ll go with you, then,” she said. D’Artagnan and Treville both immediately raised their eyebrows at her. “I’m entitled to get a look around the place, same as you,” she pointed out.

Clearly amused, Treville rolled his eyes. “Go on, then. I’ll be ten minutes,” he said, because Aramis was beginning to look like he had something to talk to Treville about.

Sensing the same thing, d’Artagnan clapped Brujon on the shoulder. “Let’s go and attend to these horses, then, shall we?” He kissed Constance on the cheek as he and Brujon brushed past her, and Brujon nodded awkwardly at her.

“Don’t be too unkind to him,” Aramis said, keeping his voice low. “He left his post, yes, but something has been amiss with him for a while.” He looked around, as though hoping that an explanation for Athos’ discontentment would manifest itself in the cabin.

Based on Treville’s expression, he didn’t agree – but he was still willing to be fair to Athos if something was genuinely wrong. “I’ll deal with him when Constance and I find him,” he said, less ominously than before. He started to turn away, but then he turned back. “Aramis…” He paused. “It might be nothing. But did he send Milady to England?”

“He did,” Aramis said, concerned. “But at the same time…I don’t think she would do what she was told.”

“And how would she _know_ he was here?” Porthos said, although he didn’t doubt that Milady had, indeed, turned tail and fled after Athos had caught her. “Unless she’s somehow snuck her way into the Musketeer ranks, which I doubt, she wouldn’t know we were over here.”

Treville made a gesture which suggested that this had placated his suspicions. “No, you’re probably right,” he conceded. “Constance and I will go and find him right away.”

“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” Porthos joked, slightly uneasily, as Treville turned for the door.

“Oh, Athos is really for it,” Aramis said, in a tone of despair, as soon as Treville was out of the door and it was closed. They could both hear him thundering up the stairs and yelling after Constance, and Aramis almost laughed.

“If Treville didn’t, I was going to,” Porthos said, with an amusing simplicity. “And at least we’ll know where he _got_ to,” he added. When Aramis still didn’t seem cheered, he continued: “Let’s go an’ see if d’Artagnan and Brujon need any help, then.” Aramis nodded, and followed Porthos out of the door.

As the two of them reached the gangplank of the ship, Constance and Treville were disappearing out of the harbour itself, and towards the nearby town. Constance usually saw little cause to worry about her safety despite the apparent dangers of her profession, but the fact that she was in a foreign country where she only spoke a little of the language had worried her. As such, she had a small dagger hidden in the pleats of her skirts, while Treville carried a sword and a pistol.

Treville looked around himself to see if there was anybody they might ask for information about local taverns, but he found nothing. Quite on the contrary: most of the locals seemed to look away from them if he tried to make eye contact, and those that didn’t looked away if he smiled at them. Finally tiring of this, he turned to Constance.

“We may have a problem,” he said bluntly.

“And that is?” Constance stopped looking around her, although she would have preferred to still be able to look around. If she wasn’t permitted to go exploring as she may have wished, she at least wanted to be able to take a good look at the town.

“You don’t speak any English, and I doubt we’ll have much luck trying to get anybody here to speak to _me_.” He frowned, and looked around himself to see if there was any sign either of Athos or of somebody who might be able to help them to find him. “I don’t know how we’ll find any taverns, or Athos for that matter.”

“Assuming he’s even _in_ a tavern,” Constance added.

“It’s _Athos_ ,” Treville pointed out.

“They might have cut him off by now,” Constance said hopefully.

“You’ve never been to England before, have you?” Treville teased. Constance laughed and rolled her eyes.

“Excuse me?” Somebody behind Treville cleared their throat and spoke, in heavily-accented French. He turned, and found a woman who couldn’t have been much younger than about sixty smiling up at him. “I’m sorry to eavesdrop,” she said, “but I heard you and your friend talking about looking for a tavern.”

Treville nodded. “We were,” he replied. “We lost one of our friends; we wanted to check to see if he was in one.”

“Well, the one that most of the _sailors_ go to is down there.” The woman gestured back in the direction that they had come from. “Just down there, and back around to the left, up to the square.” She nodded. “It’s called The Atlantic. If you and your friend came off one of the ships, he’ll probably have washed up there.”

“Thank you,” Treville said, somewhat surprised. The old woman nodded again, and walked back to her husband with a smile to Treville and Constance. “So, he might be closer at hand than we thought,” Treville laughed, glad that they at least might not have to search the entire town for Athos.

The Atlantic certainly made sense to Treville as a place where Athos might go, once he set eyes on it. It didn’t look quite as homely as the taverns that they frequented back in France, but it seemed to be popular, and the atmosphere wasn’t as oppressive as some of the seedier places in either France or in England that he had visited.

Regardless, Athos was nowhere to be found. Treville asked a couple of the patrons, and Constance also tried to ask – although with considerably less luck than the minister – and while a couple of people thought that maybe they had seen him, nobody could say for sure. And, more problematically, nobody was able to tell them where Athos might be now.

Getting increasingly frustrated with the lack of either Athos or information about where Athos might be, Treville ordered himself and Constance a drink each, while Constance herself found them a table. By the time that Treville returned to the table with the drinks, she was looking anxiously around her. It had been starting to get dark when they had entered the tavern, and now it was past dark. Looking out of the window, the moon, partially covered with small, speedy clouds, was visible over the rooftops, and Constance could make out some of the stars.

“If we don’t find him,” Treville said, “we are going to have to go back without him.”

Constance nodded. “I don’t imagine the others will be pleased, but I know,” she said. “We can’t stay out all night on account of Athos.”

“And he can take care of himself.” Knowing him, Athos had already found somewhere to hide out until he thought that Treville’s ire would have run dry. Either that or he would have stumbled back to the ship, and hopefully been taken back on board by a benevolent sailor or cadet.

Constance sighed, looking down into her drink for a moment before extricating her head from the glass when she thought she heard something outside. She glanced out of the window, but there was nothing there. She still gave her eyes a moment to adjust, and just at the moment that she thought she was just thinking wishfully, the light of the moon reflected on something metal on the ground.

“Treville,” she said. He looked up. “Look, out there.”

Treville did. As soon as he saw the metal object on the ground, he leapt to his feet. “Constance, stay in here,” he ordered as he went to the door.

Constance, however, did not. She followed Treville out of the door, reaching his side as he crouched down by the metal object. He turned to her, picking up what they could both now see was a pistol, and turning it over in his hands. “This is Athos’ pistol,” he said, his tone suddenly serious.

“Do you think he’s hurt?” Constance asked. “Or could he have just dropped it?”

“He wouldn’t,” Treville said, nervously. “Something has happened. This is wrong. Let’s get back in there; I need to ask more questions,” he said, getting back up, and offering his hand to help Constance up. She picked Athos’ pistol up, and gave it to Treville.

“Is it loaded?” she asked.

Treville checked. “No,” he said. “But I can’t tell if it’s been fired recently.”

“The people in here could tell us if they heard a gunshot, or any fighting.” Constance said, inclining her head towards the people seated in the tavern as they walked back through the door. “Or… should we check to see if there’s any blood out there?” she asked, cringingly.

“No,” Treville replied. “Ask in here first. We can check when we have some light.” He grimaced.

The first three or four people that they asked refused to answer Treville and Constance’s questions, even with the promise of monetary reward, and the next few said that they had only been there for a short while, so they couldn’t say either way. However, just as they were at the point of giving up and going back out to the street to start the search themselves, a young man tugged on Treville’s sleeve.

“I’m sorry – I heard you asking. I heard a gunshot earlier, and some shouting,” he said. Another English local who spoke good French – clearly, Treville and Constance were in luck. “Out in that street.” He indicated the street in which Constance and Treville had found Athos’ gun. “I can’t tell you anything more, I’m sorry.” Before Treville was able to ask him any further questions, or even respond to his answer, the young man had turned and left.

“We need to go back out,” Treville said. “I didn’t like the way that sounded.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t speak French well,” Constance said, even though she was already getting up and getting her dagger out from where she had hidden it in her skirts. “We might just be reading too much into this.”

“No, no,” Treville said. “Keep that hidden. If you need it, you want to be able to surprise the person attacking you,” he explained. Constance nodded, and slipped the dagger back into her clothing, pulling one of the folds of her skirt over to hide it completely before she and Treville both headed back out of the door.

Outside, the back street was every bit as quiet as it had been when they had found Athos’ pistol. There were no obvious signs of a scuffle, and neither Treville nor Constance could see any other signs of either Athos or his weapons.

Just as Treville and Constance were about to throw in the towel, there were footsteps. Constance looked up, an apology for the fact that she and Treville were seemingly snooping around on her lips, but gasped when she saw who it was. “Athos!”

Treville’s head snapped up as he heard Constance speak, and he took a couple of steps towards the captain, his expression an uneasy midpoint between anger and confusion. “Athos, what were you thinking?” he demanded. “Running off like that while Brujon was–”

“Captain, I can explain later,” Athos said, his voice soft and deliberate. “Now, however, it would be in your best interests to go back to the ship.”

“Like _hell_ I will,” Treville said, now angry rather than just puzzled.

Athos tensed, but took an unwilling step towards Treville. Now that he was visible in the light of the torches, it was clear that he had taken quite a beating during his disappearance. His right eye was blackened, and his hair was stuck to the right side of his face with a combination of blood and sweat.

By the time Treville noticed this, and the fact that Athos’ hands were bound in front of him with twine, two men had already come up behind him and Constance. For a second, Athos considered shouting to warn them to run, but he knew that Treville in a bad mood would never listen. He looked up, hearing a third man step behind him. On some unseen signal, all three men grabbed their targets.

Athos knew that trying to fight back was useless, not when there were three people there, and he gave in willingly, not keen to incur another beating. Constance, despite the fact that she grabbed her dagger and managed to stab it into her assailant’s arm, was collared later, a hand pressed over her mouth.

Treville, though, was more easily able to fight back. The man behind him, however, was stronger and quicker thinking, and had the advantage of having surprised his victim, and was able to overpower Treville after a few quick seconds of Treville fighting back against him.

**Author's Note:**

> [insert season 3 opening here]


End file.
